Resurrection: The Rebirth of Edward Cullen
by Raggdolly
Summary: From Spanish Flu to newborn vampire. Edward Cullen's last moments as a human and beyond. Carefully researched to preserve historical accuracy and may not be for the faint of heart.
1. Draped Sheets and a Burdened Morgue

*Disclaimer: All characters and back-stories belong to Stephenie Meyer. No profit is being made from this fan-fiction.

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**RESURRECTION: THE REBIRTH OF EDWARD CULLEN**

_|...on temporary hiatus...|_**  
**

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This is one of the very first fan-fictions that I ever wrote for the Twilight fandom because I became fascinated with Carlisle and Edward's interactions while he was still human.

This is my interpretation of their early accounts from Spanish Influenza to newborn vampire with two alternating POVs (because I didn't know how to write in third person back then).

I don't expect this to be a "full-length" fic. It will possibly have around eight chapters once it's completed (whenever that may be).

**RATED:**

T

**WARNINGS:**

Possible use of adult language

**GENRE:**

Hurt-Comfort/Supernatural

**ADDITIONAL:**

Canon/Historical

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**Chapter One:**

_Draped Sheets and a Burdened Morgue_

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We walked the long blocks to the hospital, our faces draped with the provided gauze masks to shield our mouths from the world.

Chicago wasn't like it used to be. A once thriving city turned into a nightmare, seemingly, overnight.

What was called the Spanish Flu lurked in every crevice and lay in the gutters of the street, attacking the healthy and innocent.

We stepped over the dead appendages that were helplessly strewn in our path, the owners already blank from the final stage of the sickness. They were dying quicker than they could be picked up. By this rate, the whole city would be gone soon. I couldn't help but be reminded of my father only months prior. Mother and I watched him die and were helpless against the virus that he fought alone. The memory was still fresh, and still pulled at my chest no matter how hard I fought it.

I tried to breathe in delicately, afraid of the infected air that was lingering, but our pace, combined with the cool September breeze, hit the back of my throat and instantly turned the scratched flesh into icy embers that blazed into my lungs. My sickness developed rapidly in a few days. I first started experiencing dizzy spells which turned into fever, and the fever caused cold chills and sweats. It was uncomfortable to move but it didn't quite hurt. Only my head panged and swelled with an ache that was too harsh to be described. It made my eyes tired and my ears ring with a low rumble.

My mother was showing symptoms as well, only, thankfully, she was better off than I was. She was certain that the doctors would be able to slow the progress of the virus before it became too serious. And I, as I always have, believed her. For seventeen years, I have done nothing but listen to her words and trust her judgment. Even now, as we picked up our pace in the grisly sea of stone and bile her words were repeated in my head: _You are going to be okay._

It was becoming increasingly difficult to harbor hope as we neared our destination. The mood became impossibly heavier as we rounded the corner onto the street that the Cook County Hospital was located. I had been here before, not many times but at least twice when it was first built a few years ago. The eight story structure was a mere façade of its true purpose. The architecture was marvelous and defiant against the surrounding city. The details of its stone exterior plead to be studied. It's haunting yet beautiful faces with the scaling columns and arches seemed other worldly to me.

Before entering the large building, my mother clasped my wrist and turned me to face her. There was an urgency to her movements.

I studied her closely. Her pale skin and the darkness under her eyes were, I knew, from her lack of sleep. But her lips, which were usually pink and vivid, were as pasty as her complexion. There was a quality about her in that moment that was unnerving.

Her eyes searched mine as she tried to lend me her best smile, but it fell short. It was cut by worry, those thoughts that she was never able to keep from her expressions.

Without warning, words formed in the back of my mind just as she opened her mouth to speak.

"You're—" she started.

"Going to be fine." I interrupted in a hoarse voice.

I always knew what she was going to say before she spoke.

Even though half of my face was covered by fabric, I gave her a reassuring smile, but I could tell by the pull of my cheeks that it was weak and it wouldn't silence her worry.

She reached up and cupped the sides of my face in her palms. She was searching for an answer she hadn't said aloud and I, unknowingly, was searching too.

She patted the side of my face. Her cold hands lingered briefly before returning both of them to her sides. I pushed through the doors of the elaborate building, and held them while she walked through. I would have though this to be the busiest building in the city, but it was the opposite. It was bare of life at first glance, with a strange odor that lingered. It wasn't a stench that I could interpret, but it caused my stomach to twist the further we walked into the lobby.

It didn't take long for an older, brown-haired woman with a mask covering the lower half of her face to find us. I could hear her heavy breathing as she stopped in front of us, and combined with the way her heels clicked heavily against the floor as she approached, I could only assume that she had been running around.

"Quarantine?" she asked, muffled.

"Yes." My mother nodded, placing her hand gently on my back.

The older woman sighed indifferently then pulled a pen from the front pocket on her white nurse's uniform.

"Names?" She asked looking down at her papers she was carrying, preparing to write.

"Elizabeth Masen, and this is my son, Edward."

The nurse scratched down our names and when she finished she looked up at us. "We have two quarantine units here, one for men and another for women and small children. For obvious reasons, we do not allow co-ed, so Mrs. Masen, if you'll come with me. Son, if you'll please wait here, I'll be back for you."

My mother turned to me, her gaze still fevered with worry and now tainted with panic. "But, he's my son." Her voice, once a strong and confident wind was reduced to a delicate breeze. It turned my already churning stomach.

"I'm sorry ma'am there are no exceptions for young men to stay in the women and children unit, regardless of whether or not he is your son. We can provide you with some stationary items and your nurse can exchange letters if you wish. Surely, you can understand." Her tone was more unpleasant than I cared for but I didn't argue with the woman. Instead, I turned to my mother.

"We can write letters. It will be fine," I said, attempting to bring her peace of mind.

I knew she was worried about me but what else was there to do? Our options were exiguous. hy did this feel like good-bye?

She touched my cheek once more. "I love you. We'll see each other soon."

And with that, she stepped away from me.

"Stay here. I'll be right back," the nurse said.

I watched my mom watch me as she disappeared into the shadows.

A low rumble shook the building and I recognized it to be thunder. A storm was rolling in which wasn't surprising. The sky had been threatening strong weather for a few days now and personally, I was anticipating the wet. I imagined it washing away the death to the sewers below. How I wished it were that simple.

I let out a sharp, painful cough that disturbed the thickness in my chest. Just as I began to clear my throat I heard the returning clack of footsteps from the hall my mother had retreated down. The nurse appeared from the shadows.

"Come with me," she demanded.

I resisted the urge to clench my jaw. Her tone was frustrating, but I did what she asked, attempting to be respectful of this rude woman.

I followed her down the same corridor. I didn't remember it looking like this when I was here a couple of years earlier. I recalled the vibrancy and light that lit up the darkest chasm. This wasn't the same building to me. It was solemn, painted with sadness.

The stench that had taken over me earlier made itself known again and came in a more concentrated dose. I attempted to focus my attention on anything but the scent and turned my eyes to the dark walls that were lit dimly by a light being filtered from somewhere ahead of us. The walls were a graying white, and were broken by wide one-windowed doors to match. A sheet had been covered over the glass to give what ever lay behind them privacy. I was sure this was why the hall was so dark but nothing could take away the scent that assaulted my nostrils. It was suddenly rancid and stung the skin under my eyes as I breathed it in.

I gulped the air, carelessly, hoping to calm my upset stomach but the rotten odor was too strong even for the back of my throat. I tasted the putrid aroma on my tongue and I couldn't move forward anymore. I stopped, unable to follow the nurse down the hallway for fear of my sickness and the motion. My breath staggered through my nose; my stomach leaped at the scent and the burning started to crawl into my throat. I wanted to fight the reaction but there wasn't any way that I was going to be able to keep the bile from rising further. I needed something and frantically searched the hall for any signs to hold the contents of my stomach. But I was too late. The sensations burned my eyes and it hit the top of my mouth. I heaved forward to the floor unwillingly. The acidic liquid was agonizing against the raw flesh of my throat as the contents spilled into my mask and splattered onto my clothes and the floor.

I closed my eyes, squeezing out the tears. "I'm sorry." I spluttered out roughly after emptying the contents in front of me. I was slightly embarrassed not being able to hold myself together.

"Don't worry. We'll have an orderly clean it up. Don't think that you are the first that has vomited. Most everybody does when they first get here…Including the volunteers." She had turned to look at me, not caring about the contents from my innards in front of me. I pulled my mask from my face with as much force as my hands allowed and threw it onto the floor. I wiped away the excess with the back of my hand.

"It's the smell." I said then coughed repeatedly, wondering if she was unaware of the stink.

"I know. The morgue is directly below us. We have to store bodies here longer than usual. The city can't bury the victims fast enough and it is becoming too crowded, too quickly. The morgue has reached its occupancy and we've had to find elsewhere to store the bodies," she explained.

I was surprised that she was offering all this information to me—a patient, a potential victim. If I didn't make it out of here alive, this would be the fate of my remains, or my mothers.

The thought made me want to heave again but I knew there was nothing left to empty onto the floor. The lady walked back to me, carefully so she wouldn't get anything on her dress and cupped my arm but maintaining her distance. She pulled me away from my liquid. According to the papers, the Influenza was extremely contagious. They believed it was spread through the nose and mouth, so I did my part to keep from coughing on her, although some part of me wanted to infect her so she would experience the feelings. She led me through a door with a sheet hung for privacy. The letters were bold and black: QUARANTINE.

Beds were lined in rows upon rows, all full of people. I wanted to cover my now bare mouth but remembered that I, too, was sick and it wouldn't do much good, but instincts were the better of me and I slipped a hand over my mouth and nose; providing a fleshy screen for myself. The nurse let go of my elbow but continued to walk into the room and I followed her between the spacious aisles of white sheeted beds. A new smell was in the air - remains of food and urine overpowered the rotting flesh below us.

"We don't have a bed available for you, Edward. You can sleep on a palate until a bed opens. I'm sorry." She turned back to face me briefly, her brown eyes flat and careless. She spun and rattled keys in her hands then continued to walk her inferior steps to a door on the opposite side of the room.

By the time I caught up with her, she had already unlocked the door and pulled white cloths out of the rather large storage cupboard.

"These are your dressings. Your palate is over here." She motioned towards an empty space between two beds that held patients. I followed her dutifully and she dropped half of the cloths onto the floor bed. "Please change so that we may treat you without your clothes getting in the way." She handed me hospital grade clothing that consisted of a thin shirt and thin pants. I looked around for a room to go change into but was confused when I saw no direction at all.

"Change." She said again, noting the expression on my face. She started to unfold the sheets.

"Where do I need to change at?" I asked her, forcing the words through the thickness in my throat. Surely, there was a sheet I could stand behind or a wash room that she wanted me to go into.

"Here. Change here." Her tone was forceful and a staggered breath escaped my chest into the tainted air.

"But you're still here." I looked around briefly, swallowing around the lump in my throat. "And so are the other nurses." I tried to keep my voice at a steady whisper, resisting the urge to give her my rude tone.

"Sir, this is why we don't have co-ed quarantines. You may keep your undergarments on, if that is what you are concerned about. You don't have anything the volunteers and nurses have never encountered before, I assure you." She spoke into the makeshift bed as she straightened and tugged at the white sheets.

I sighed in defeat and started undressing.

I hurriedly outfitted myself in the thin attire she provided for me and folded my clothes at the foot of the floor bed she had provided. Despite my careful folding, she scooped them up carelessly into her arms, holding them away from her and motioned for me to lie down. I obeyed and slipped underneath the rough sheets and onto the hard floor.

"What are you going to do with my clothes?" I asked but was afraid of her answer.

"These will be thrown out. They are too soiled for the nurses to deal with."

She walked away.

I felt fragile and small under her watch. She treated me like I was a child even though I was almost old enough to join the military. I rested my head on the pillow and turned to look down the long aisle of beds. My vision was interrupted by additional patients laid out on the floor like I was. There was little movement on the floor but it wasn't silent. Coughing surrounded the room and echoed briefly in the rafters above us. It was accompanied by the roar of thunder and the pounding on the rain on the windows on either side of the large area.

"Don't worry about her." A voice said above me. The accent was heavy Italian. "That's head nurse Pat. We secretly thinks she hates men which is why they put that God forsaken woman here with us." My eyes ascended to the owner of the heavy voice. I was met with a pair of tired brown eyes and a thin pale face. His brown hair was matted to his head and his breath was rank. He couldn't have been older than me but his worn features suggested otherwise. He paused to give me time to answer but I said nothing; my throat was still burning from the vomit incident in the hall.

"I'm George Fanatoni. But you can call me Georgie. Don't call me Geo though, ya know…Cause I hate that." I grinned at his enthusiasm. He seemed quite chipper for someone who was situated with deathly sick people. I had to wonder if his Flu was as serious as mine.

"Edward Masen." I pushed it out forcefully so that he could hear me through the mucus.

"That over there is Frankie Stanford." He gestured with his chin to the bed next to me. "But Frankie don't say much. He's in the final stages so it's hard for him to talk. He sleeps most of the day and night and only wakes up to eat per the nurses. If they didn't wake him up, poor Frankie would sleep all the time."

I looked up at the other bed but only saw traces of pale flesh that belonged to an arm. "You'll probably be getting his bed. The doc doesn't think he'll make it but another day, if he's lucky."

I cringed at the thought of inheriting a dead man's bed. It was a gruesome practice.

"What about you? How long have you been here?" I asked him.

"Me? About a week. My parents sent me here as soon as I started the cough. Ya know, they didn't want my sisters to come down with it. Haven't heard from 'em either. They don't let visitors in here."

"You're the only one in your family that is sick?"

"Yeah. I'm hoping that it stays that way. What about you?"

"My father died in the first wave earlier this year and my mother is in the women's quarantine now. I don't have any other family." I said roughly.

"I'm sorry." Georgie offered softly.

I could only nod, biting back the silent tears that formed against the slick mucus lining the back of my throat. The brunette that Georgie had named Pat, was stalking back towards my bed carrying items in her arms. She bent down and produced them on the floor next to me; two small shallow pales, a metal bed pan and a small white towel. She went to work immediately, her gauze mask rising and falling with her stinted breath. She submerged the small fabric in a pale with water and swished it. The sound was almost soothing when it was combined with the rain beating against the windows.

She washed my face first. The wet dented material of the towel rubbing the remains of my accident away from my skin. It felt good to be clean, even if there was no soap on the fabric. I knew that this was as close as I was going to be for a while. She dipped the rag in the water several more times to wash my neck and hands then slapped the towel back in the pale and went to stand.

"Thank you." I murmured and cleared my throat.

She turned back and looked down at me and nodded simply. She grinned, slightly and then went about her duties, taking the pale of water with her. The water reminded me how thirsty I was. My throat was parched and the sickness was tiring but I didn't want to bother Nurse Pat since she seemed perplexed. My neighbor didn't offer any other words and neither did I. A flash of light lit the room and seconds later a clap of thunder shook the building. My breath hitched and I jumped at the sound, feeling the shock through my chest and arms. I coughed into my fist as I turned over on my left side. I wanted to rest, to find some peace and comfort in the blackness but I found myself inspecting the people on the floor around me. Their stillness was unnatural. I tried to breathe evenly while keeping my breaths shallow, to avoid the odor and having to use the pale next to me, although I wasn't sure what was left to spill.

It was hard to not smell the combination of ammonia, vomit and other strong scents that evaded my knowledge. It was hard not to imagine the death cart that carried away the victims and the full morgue below us that Nurse Pat told me of earlier. Regardless, I tried to clear my head of everything but the sound of the rain and the claps of thunder. I closed my eyes tightly against the flashes of light and reveled at the refreshing weather. Memories seeped back in through the filtered flashes in the darkness behind my lids. I saw myself playing in the rain as a boy, enjoying the drops wetting my hair and rolling down my face. I didn't like getting my clothes wet but there wasn't much I could do about that. My mother would call me back inside only after a few minutes to change my wet garments. She didn't enjoy me getting my clothes soaked either.

I shivered under the sheet, not knowing if it was the air or the memory that caused the chills. I squeezed my eyes tighter and pressed my lips into a tight grimace.

I needed stationary so I could write a short note for my mother and I wondered how she was doing. I hope she had a bed to lie in, instead of lie on the hard floor like I was. I brought a loosely clenched fist to my mouth and coughed into it roughly. My chest ached and never settled until I drifted into the darkness that I always welcomed where everything was better.

I woke up, startled at a noise that was unrecognizable. I looked around briefly, confused about where I was at first until the day's events came back to me. The room was more active next to me and I rolled over to see shoes and legs in my direct view on the other side of the Frankie's bed.

"I told ya, he wouldn't last long. Poor bastard didn't even make it to dinner time." Georgie said beside me.

"Do you know what time it is?" I asked absently; still groggy from sleep.

"No. I never know what time it is until the doctor gets here. Then I can tell you that it is eight on the dot. But my guess would be five o'clock."

"Does he get here at the same time everyday?"

"Yeah," he drawled. "Dr. Cullen only works nights. Rather odd he is."

I became curious and suddenly more aware of the nurses beside me tending to the dead man. "Why do you say?" I asked distracting myself.

"He never works during the day and his skin is white as these sheets…But that could be from never going out in the sun." He grinned at the not-so-humorous joke.

I nodded. A lot of people didn't go out during the day, especially now while all of public Chicago was becoming infected. A gurney held up by two men caught my attention as it passed by overhead in the aisle. I was calm, not affected by the sight as I told myself that death is natural. I was, however, not as composed when I thought about climbing into the bed he had died in. It was more or less of the word, _creepy_.

A young, petite blond dressed in a white uniform came and knelt by my palate. Even though her mouth was covered with the large mask, I would say that she was fairly attractive. Her curls were pinned to the side of her head under her delicate folded nurse's hat and her blue eyes seemed kind and sympathetic.

"We're going to put you in the bed. We'll have to use the same sheets that you're using. We've nearly run out of fresh."

I nodded in understanding, not minding. I had only lain on these sheets for a few hours at most. I watched her as she stripped the mattress above me and pile the sheets at the end of the bed on the floor. Without asking, she helped me up, her hands cupping under my elbow.

"Let me get your sheets on, dear." She said quietly.

I stood while she tucked, tugged and smoothed the sheets then motioned for me to climb in. I did so, trying not to let my mind wander to Frankie being carried away to be stacked in the morgue—or elsewhere. I was unsuccessful. The blond nurse put the remaining sheet over me as I laid my head on the pillow.

"Thank you." I muttered. She nodded, her eyes squinting above a grin.

The bed was comfortable enough but cold against the length of my body and sleep was too far away for me to reach. So, I stared at the ceiling overhead, listening to the sounds and defining each of them. Coughing, liquid dripping somewhere across the room, the rain beating against the windows—which was obvious, sniffling, painful moaning and soft delicate sobs. It was becoming increasingly hard to breathe appropriately and I gulped for air through my mouth. With the air a sour scent touched my taste buds. It wasn't like anything else in the room yet it was familiar; unkempt skin and dirty sheets. The smell reminded me of the last moments with my father.

I remained the same for hours, trying to cough inconspicuously into my fist to reduce attention to myself even if there wasn't any. I ate a small dinner that consisted of a bland soup and a chunk of bread with water. Nurse Pat came by a few times to check on me and to test for fever, which I had. She brandished a look of worry each time she inspected me and then slipped over to her other patients and to light lanterns that were placed around the room. The dim light flickered and danced impossibly on the high ceiling. I closed my eyes to shut out the amber room that was my new reality but they didn't stay closed for long. A new commotion of voices caught my attention. I opened my eyes and turned my head in the direction where the noise was coming from.

"Eight o'clock." Georgie murmured beside me then coughed laboriously.

I watched the tall figure make the rounds and speak to the nurses. The poor light restricted me from seeing his face or any other details other than the obvious fact that he had sleek blond hair. He finally settled next to Nurse Pat a few feet away, his back to me. She motioned towards me and his head snapped to attention then he focused on me and walked to my bedside.

He was frightfully pale even in the amber glow but more bewildering were his eyes. They seemed to gleam like melted gold and were just as auroras. He offered a grin, his teeth as white as the sheets I was laying on.

"Hello Edward," he said. "I'm Dr. Cullen."


	2. Living Amongst Monsters

**Chapter Two: **

_Living Amongst Monsters_

**~oOoOo~**

**Carlisle's Point of View**

**~oOoOo~**

The rain had shifted towards Chicago but it didn't surprise me. I sensed it for days; the moisture in the air and the subtle scent of freshness under more obvious odors that plagued the city. In my entirety, I had never experienced an epidemic as fatal as this one. Even the Great Plague of London wasn't as severe. Had I not been changed two years prior, I hold no doubt that I would have fallen victim to its advances. Instead, I persevered, remaining constant in a changing world…Forever a man at twenty three, unharmed by sickness and uniformed in death.

It has always been a struggle to accept this fate. To think of oneself as a monster of people's nightmares when one is anything but. Then again, I suppose I am an aberration but not evil…No. No, not evil. I have seen monsters. I have lived amongst them. They are what I will never be. For some vampires it is easy to give into instincts and draw first blood from the neck of an innocent. They accept what they are and do not work against it because it is easier to take life than suffer the pain of allowing it to endure. Blood is a terrible entity that constantly reminds us of why we exist.

I put a finger into the drapes and pushed it back, letting in the cloud filtered light. I had seen this color before on more stormy days; gray. The world was dark and bleak but I didn't mind. I was the only creature in Chicago that held out for rain. I embraced its cool nature and shadows away from the sun. It was the only time I could venture out during the day; when the sun was hidden behind the thick cover of the clouds. I needed the interaction with people. I have lived a life of solitude for more than two hundred and fifty years. Regardless of what I am, I long for the communication. The world is far too big and I am but one being. And while loneliness is not unheard of and confinement is well practiced in my world, it is not in my nature to do so.

I dressed in my clean attire and gathered my belongings that I carried with me each day. Some of my items served as an ignus fatuus; an illusion to keep my appearance without question. My bag was not a prop. Inside were notes and pieces of literature of medical nature. My over coat and gauze mask were my illusion. I didn't need either but I wore them like any other person; I was an apparition of humanity. I exited my quarters with slow, fluid movements so that I could enjoy the walk and the last remaining light that lingered on the darkened horizon. It was raining, misting lightly to the ground but it never bothered me. I pulled my Homburg hat tight on my head and made my way down the sidewalk.

I was usually avoided on the streets, receiving little acknowledgement from people that passed by quickly. I had been told once that the populace would generally avoid our kind unless they were being seduced. I believed it. People that didn't know me glanced down after looking into my eyes. It always fascinated me how creatures knew that they were the weaker. But on a day like today, no one nodded at anybody while they passed. Their heads were down and their gate was strict and quick. The weather has a funny way of changing people. The weather and the influenza made people less friendly towards their fellow man. I, however, walked with my head up, taking in the city rich in gray, fading luminance. Even through death, I could find a piece of beauty; knowing that this will pass, either by death or by time, but it wouldn't last forever. It would ravage as many lives as it could but it too would die. As long as it continued, I would aid what little ration I was given. I would learn from their sickness and address it if it arises again. The city would thrive, and I would be around to see it. But as of now, we are in the dark, humans and vampires alike.

My hours at the hospital can be harsh but I can not deny that I enjoy the work. It allows me the interaction that I desire and some humans made for interesting conversation some days. They often spoke of their homes and families, not of their pain. I studied them, even while they were dying; their movements, their words, the last breath that left their bodies. I could not recall my final human breath but I knew that it anything but peaceful. I was, however, unable to forget my first whiff of immortality. Every flame that flickered and the resentment that stole my mind were harbored, never leaving. In this day, I could, at the least, perceive what it all meant. I breathed in the chilled air, to experience the sensation that rolled into my lungs. Turning life, death and the sickly sweet tides of flesh ignited the faint glowing of embers with me. I need to hunt but I could wait until the next cover of night. I could go for extended periods without drinking and still feel at ease with humans. I have never held a strong desire to take what is rightfully theirs. Not to say that I haven't been curious to the taste because I have wondered what it would be like to feel the rich liquid purge the heat within my body. However, the desire to commit such a fiendish act has never been there to push me to do it. Thus, I am an innocent vampire, if there could ever be such a thing.

Regardless, I had to keep the golden tint in my eyes. Humans can be perceptive if given a reason and I would give them plenty. I had to be more cautious than any other vampire in Chicago since I worked within such close proximity to the dietary preference of my kind. The first slip in my routines would cause questioning amongst the nurses at the hospitals who seemed to be immune to the disguised danger. To say they were curious of my presence would be understated but the attraction was natural. They were relentless and I became increasingly aware of how utterly alone I have been. It was dangerous for them to be charmed by me. I never encouraged them though. The sheer thought of them discovering my hidden knowledge frightened and delighted me. I have never known the pleasures of women and it was an experience I longed for. I want to feel love. I want to marvel in the shadow of its complexities. But to do so would mean to take life, and I would no sooner become a monster for my selfish impurities.

The truck that took away the dead pulled away before I reached the doors of the building and it left in its wake the stench of rotting flesh. I removed my hat from my head as I entered the hospital and made my way to my office to remove my overcoat and stow my belongings. The only light came from a single window behind my desk on the far side of the room. The walls were blatantly bare, further evidence of my lonely existence. It wasn't a large room, but I didn't spend much time in here. My time was spent with the ill. Notes were taken mostly in the privacy of my home to avoid concealing one hundred years worth of medical records in the drawers of my desk.

I set out to the confinements of the women and children's quarantine. I preferred to view them first before the men. The smells were the same as usual, and if I were human, it would cause me to vomit. I had seen many nurses, patients and volunteers upchuck in this hall. It wasn't unusual. With my mask in place, I spoke to the nurses on duty for the evening, making the rounds and seeing the new patients. There wasn't anything that I could do for them that would ease their pain or take away their symptoms. All the nurses and I could do was to help them be as comfortable as possible until they were well enough to leave or died. The majority to nearly all never left the hospital. I had already lost thirty this week in the women's quarantine alone. It wasn't difficult to decipher who was more near to death amongst the patients. Once their symptoms were clear I would merely have to look at them. Death was a prominent visitor and it was easily deciphered.

It was then that I saw her. She didn't look nearly as sick as the others but still, I could sense it. The process of laconism was already working on her. Her green eyes were dull, lifeless strands of color. She wouldn't make it past tomorrow evening. Nurse Olivia was by my side when I stopped at the woman's bed. She was petite and lucid with dainty features, large hazel eyes and a kind soul. She pressed her lips into a tight line before she spoke.

"Her name is Elizabeth Masen. She arrived early today with her son Edward. I was informed that Edward is in the second phase of the influenza and we believe she is as well."

"What are her symptoms?" I asked.

"Fever, sweats, vomiting and coughing of course, doctor."

There was something else. The faint taste of it on the back of my tongue alerted me that there was more they weren't aware of.

"She's bleeding," I said, trying to keep my voice low so only Nurse Olivia could hear me. "She is in the final stage."

"We didn't discover any bleeding, doctor."

I turned to her and kindly asked, "Will you please go fetch a bowl of water and a clean cloth, please?"

She nodded faintly and left me while I approached the bed side of the sick woman. Her skin was pale, almost completely without color. Her eyes set on mine slowly and I gave her a moment to take in my appearance, as not to frighten her. To my surprise, she didn't shy away from my gaze; she only continued to stare with a blank expression through her weak lids.

"Hello, Elizabeth, I'm Dr. Cullen. We're going to make you as comfortable as possible." I pulled up a small stool that was conveniently close and perched myself on the edge of it. She followed my every move and for the first time I felt uneasy under the scrutiny of a dying woman.

"I understand you have a son in quarantine as well," I stated more than asked, remembering how people loved to talk about their families.

She came to life and nodded, a twinkle appearing in her eyes. I didn't need to possess an abnormal amount of knowledge to recognize love when it presented itself. The love that she holds for her son was obvious to anyone that would witness the gleam that I just saw. Tears began to form on her lower lid and one drop escaped onto her cheek and ran down the side of her face, disappearing into her hair. Going against my better instincts, I inched towards her slightly. She sniffled and reached for my hand along the edge of the bed. My jaw flexed when I realized what she was doing but I took her delicate fingers in mine and she exhaled a heavy breath.

"I'm sorry," she said faintly.

"For what?"

"I'm so cold," she stated, "I'm sorry I'm so cold."

I wanted to smile but I offered her something else. "It is not you. It is the building. When it rains, it tends to drop in here. Everybody tends to be more chilled, including me."

She clutched onto my hand with as much strength that her fragile body could muster and grinned weakly.

"You're not afraid of getting close to your patients?" she asked.

"I think it is more important to offer more than a look over to the unwell. Words often have healing quality, if they are the right ones," I said.

"That would be a thing for my husband to say," she responded.

"Where is your husband?"

"He is with God, where he should be."

My heart reached out to her. "I'm sorry to hear of his passing."

"Thank you. All I have left of him is my son. He reminds me so much of his father. Almost identical, those two," she said and then coughed.

"You are proud of your son," I stated. It wasn't a question, it was a fact. The tone in her voice and the precision of her voice through the disease were indicators.

She nodded. "He is only seventeen but has so much life. Ambitious."

Blood emerged from an orifice on her nose. She was in the third stage.

Nurse Olivia appeared at my side with the bowl of water and the cloth.

"I'll take care of it, Olivia, thank you," I said to her.

She set the items on the small utility table beside me and then made her leave. I instantly dipped the cloth in the water and ringed it after it was soaked. Elizabeth sighed when I touched the cool, damp cloth under her nose to collect the fluid that had collected there. I folded the blood inside the cloth and touch it to her head, wiping away the beads of sweat that had formed.

"What is the push of his ambition?" I asked.

"He wants to join the military. He has dreams of becoming a pilot. Scares the life out of me it does," she said gently.

"Noble of him to serve his country." I blotted down the side of her head.

"Yes, he is brave. But I fear for his safety, especially now that his father is gone and he is all that I have left. I can't imagine living without him. A world without Edward is no world at all. It is less light and more susceptible to evil."

I furrowed my brow at her words.

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

She coughed heavily and arched her body away from me. When she finished she was still again and opened her mouth to answer, but before she could I spoke.

"Shh, save your strength. I apologize for my rude behavior; I have made you speak too much. He sounds like a fine young man—one any parent would be proud of."

"Please, doctor," she said, "The last thing I want is silence. I am facing an eternity of it."

My movements came to a halt as her words sunk in. I knew how she felt.

Speak to me,"—she swallowed—"I do not believe it is words that heal. It is your voice."

I grinned slightly and resumed blotting her skin. "What would you like for me to say?"

"Anything that you wish. Where are you from?"

"London."

"England?" she sounded surprised.

"Yes," I said with a smile.

"Am I wrong to assume that I thought you would have a different cadence in your voice?"

"After a certain period of time it was lost."

"How long have you been here?"

"Since I was twenty three. Ten years ago," I said, lying only slightly.

"What was it like?" she asked faintly.

"It—wasn't without its un-pleasantries but it was quite wonderful. I don't recall much of my time spent there. I was a young boy through most of the years I was there and the other memories have since faded, including those of my mother."

I dipped the cloth back into the cool water and ringed the excess water out. I took to her cheeks and then to her neck. When I finished, I submerged the white linen into the porcelain bowl and turned to her once more. Her eyes were dull windows again and it went against my heart to leave this woman's bed side but my time in this quarantine was up. I was due in men's quarantine at eight o'clock.

"Elizabeth, I'm sorry to have to leave you, but I must go tend to your son."

She acknowledged what I had said.

"Please, do not tell him of my condition. I do not want him to worry about me."

My lips pulled into a tight, small grin. "I am sure that if I could recall my mother, she would have said something similar. Not wanting anyone to concern themselves with her, like you. Rest. I will tell him what you have told me."

She closed her eyes and sighed heavily under the strain of her lungs. She would pass soon, it was inevitable and when she did, her son would be alone. Another common destiny that I shared with this family; an eternity of silence and a future of loneliness.

**~oOoOo~**

**Elizabeth Masen's Point of View**

**~oOoOo~**

I didn't see him walk away but I knew that he was no longer present at my bed side. I have never known a man to have such compassion for another. Dr. Cullen was unexpected—different. He is not like any other man I had ever met before I came here. Fresh, flaxen-haired, pale skin and eyes made of the most luxurious gold. His voice was soothing, musical even but his touch was hard, cold—like death. Yet, somehow it was as if God, himself, carved him from the finest angel.

He was a prey of death in this building, yet he came closer to the author, only for small gestures of kindness. He had not a scratch to show for the proximity, the nearness of the putridly ill such as me. Surely, he should be lying on a bed in quarantine with the rest of Chicago but he was very much alive and not sick. I was swelled with guilt for reaching out to touch him, not considering the disease before my own wants. I was ashen with sadness that I could not be with my son. I was tormented when he showed the signs of the flu and somewhere in the back of my head, I held onto hope that he wouldn't have to lay on his death bed for many years but I was proven wrong. Or is there still prospect for his future? There can not be a world without my son. Life, even death, will have been in vain if he should pass into the next world. He had to be. _Edward had to be. _


	3. Delirium

.

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,  
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and  
Are melted into air, into thin air:  
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,  
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,  
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,  
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,  
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,  
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff  
As dreams are made on; and our little life  
Is rounded with a sleep.

- William Shakespeare

_((The Tempest Act 4, scene 1, 148–158))_

~ o ~

* * *

**CHAPTER 3:**

_Delirium_

My body startled at the terrible crash of thunder that shook the building. The whole room, it seemed, clasped onto itself aside from the good doctor staring down at me. While I could scarcely acknowledge his introduction with words, the proper thing to do, I tried anyhow. Wanting to state my name, my lips left the sanctity of being joined as the words lingered on the tip of my tongue. Dr. Cullen took another step towards me, as if he anticipated my intention and held his hand up.

"Please, you don't have to speak," he said and lowered his hand. "I have heard so much about you, Edward. Your mother speaks highly of you."

If my body had lacked attention in his presence, it no longer did. My mind came to life, roaring with questions about his exchange with her. How is she? Is she comfortable? What is her condition? I wanted to know every detail, even if it was insignificant and held no meaning. I feared for her health when I saw her walk away into the darkness with Nurse Pat when we had first arrived earlier today. It felt permanent, hopeless and I knew that my abiding thoughts would never cease until I was rest assured that she would be okay. She is a kindhearted, good, honest woman…one of the best in Chicago and I would argue anyone on the fact. She doesn't deserve to be here. She's too good for it.

I tried to suppress a cough that climbed ambitiously from my chest and I let it topple into an enclosed hand. My chest stung with an overwhelming cold as I inhaled a sharp breath and I could feel the sickness bubbling in the recess of my cavity. I immediately felt thick and sullied at the harsh pains that were relentless in their need for torture. There weren't many things that I feared before the turn of this year but after I bore witness to my father's death, new horrors haunted me and for enough reason to re-think leaving home for the military; my future. Now, that my mother was widowed she would be alone if I left, without the safeguard of my father there was unexpected panic that was coiled in my mind regarding her safety. I, also, didn't want her to be alone. She would fear too much for my well-being if I was away and this would drive her to the brink of madness if she experienced it by herself. Her collecting thoughts of worry would knead out every other positive image and this fact was a burden. My attempts to dismiss any other claims by her after I broached the subject were troublesome. She always tried to assure me that she would miss me but in any case, capable of handling herself. Again, one of the best women in Chicago but the worst liar in the world.

Dr. Cullen, holding onto silence, took hold of the papers in Nurse Pat's hand and she glanced over it with him, standing strangely. The closeness seemed forced by her. Or may be it was him eliciting the odd behavior. He held his body angled away while she was leaning into him. It was a peculiar situation to witness. A cough, that wasn't predicted, spread my lungs in my chest and I heaved heavily into my fist. The back of my throat was dry and itched terribly. I needed water to lure the sickness back into the pits of my stomach where it belonged. I didn't want it near my mouth to distract my words and their meaning. I had every intention of asking him the questions that were on my mind.

He allowed Nurse Pat to take the papers and he offered me a gentle grin. I tried to form the first words of a question but I only ending up coughing more. I gasped for a quick breath and my fingers clutched into my chest while the other hand held onto sheets for brace. I shut my eyes, squeezing them at the intruding pain that tore into my lungs as I tried for a sliver of air. A cool sensation squeezed my hand and I realized it to be Dr. Cullen's own hand.

"Edward, I need you to breathe gently. Steady breaths, even," he said.

I listened to him, inhaling steadily but it didn't feel like it was enough. I wanted to gulp the air, so I did. It wasn't a thing that could be easily controlled.

"Edward, steady breaths," he reminded me.

"I can't," I said harshly against a hard hack.

"It is difficult, but it will be for the best." He squeezed my hand with both of his. They embraced my tense hand carefully. I wanted to listen to him, to do what he said but in the wandering of my mind and the sickness that embraced the rest of my body, it was effortful and I was becoming too weak to fight against what was taking hold of me. Dr. Cullen grasped my hand and wrapped his cool fingers around mine.

"Edward," Dr. Cullen said softly, "your mother wanted me to tell you that you do not need to have agonizing thoughts over her."

I coughed a grin, painfully amused at his words. "She's sick, isn't she?"

He didn't deny it.

"I knew she was. Even before me, I knew it. She dislikes when she is worried over," I paused for a moment, thinking about when I had first saw her and had suspicion that she was coming down the Flu. She was in the kitchen and moving slower than her usual pace and when she coughed, that thick, strained and harsh cough, I knew that it was a matter of time. She denied it then, and she denies it still. I felt the tears welding in my eyes, making me feel hot and flustered as I tried to swallow them back. "How sick?"

Dr. Cullen took a breath but never released it. "It is hard to say. This condition can be quite deceiving but she is quite ill. There isn't anything that I can do that we are not doing already. I am truly sorry."

I bit back the tears but my weak state wouldn't allow me to win this fight and the liquid overwhelmed my vision as it streamed over and down my face. I felt it roll down my cheek and settle behind my ear.

"Would you, perhaps, like to discuss this?"

"I want to see her," I said strictly, having it no other way. Surely, if she was dying and if I am dying, they would allow this simple request.

"I will make the arrangements for you to visit, but it will have to be brief. It is the only offer I can give to you. There isn't much more that I can do, I do hope that you understand and you will not think ill of me," Dr. Cullen responded. Through the harsh throbbing of my own heart that pounded in my ears I could interpret the tone in his voice. He was remorseful and genuine. He was touching my hand and leaning towards me, unafraid of my illness and revealing his true humanity to me. He felt for these people locked away in here, shut off from the world. These people, myself included, could be compared to barbaric animals not fit to be around civilization. The moment a cough escaped the mouth of a tamed animal, people cried out that they were feral. But this man, that didn't know a line of my life nor anyone else's in here, cared for us. I could see it residing behind his gold eyes and hear the evidence in his voice. I believed him when he said there was nothing else he could offer and I shook my head, letting him know that I had no amiss notions towards him.

"I do not think badly of you, doctor," I said then coughed. "I thank you for doing this one favor for me, for her."

"You are surely welcome. Now, you rest. Nothing need be done until tomorrow morning. If you are feeling up to the strenuous task of getting out of bed, a nurse will take you to see your mother then. I'm sure you must be in a great deal of pain." He gripped my hand reassuringly and I grinned in response, shutting my eyes and welcoming the darkness that welcomed me behind my lids.

I didn't know how long I had been asleep when my eyes fluttered open into the amber light that bounced around the room. The rest had done my body a great difference and I had the strength to turn my head to look around the room. My eyes fell on Georgie's bed and I almost gasped when I saw it to be empty. I was even taken aback more when the surrounding beds were clear of life after my lingering glance widened. Every one of them, gone. The white sheets and garments were folded neatly at the end of each bed, like they had never been used. They stood waiting for the next sick people to occupy them. My sight drifted back to the empty bed beside me. It felt strange that Georgie was no longer there, even though I hadn't known him more than I had. We only exchanged a few words that seemed meek and trivial, but I couldn't escape the sheer knowledge that he and I had spoken, regardless of its significance…and now he was no longer there. It was then I realized that I was completely alone in this lowly-lit, large room.

"Hello?" I called out into the dark emptiness. My voice echoed eerily through the dormant hall. I asked again and waited for a response, but nothing came. I raised my body off the bed, readying myself for a struggle against my own body, but it was easy and pain free as I reeled myself up into a sitting position. I was taken aback by the feeling in my extremities; normal, light. I looked around once more, making sure I was as alone as I thought I was and it was true. "Is anyone here?" I swallowed a hard lump in my throat and then realized that my chest was no longer thick from the illness. More confused, I flung the sheet off my body, surprised by my sudden strength when before I had none. My bare feet sought the floor and made contact with the cold tile while I hoisted myself off the bed with the help of my hands. It was easy to stand straight after I had been bed ridden for nearly twelve hours. I felt good; strong even. I squinted through the amber light at my surroundings. It was the same room, I was sure of it, yet somehow it seemed different. It was cleaner than I remembered and less odorous. There were no makeshift mattresses on the floor between the beds, no shallow bowls to take up space on the few tables that were placed erratically around the room and the gurneys to take away the victims were no where in sight. It was notably odd and shuddersome.

I took a step forward expecting to stumble but I didn't. I walked with no effort and then found myself stepping faster over the cold tile towards the quarantine doors that would lead to the hall. With the barriers close, I sprinted and barreled into them, knocking them open forcefully with my hands held out in front of me. I came to a sudden stop in the hall and the doors closed behind me, darkness enveloping my form and causing me to go blind. I searched quickly, looking for a flicker of light but there was nothing but the empty obsidian in the hall. I had never seen a thicker black before in my life; it was as if a shroud was blanketed over the hospital preventing any light from leaking in. I tried to breathe slowly to keep myself calm.

"Is there anyone here?" I cried out, sucking raggedly at the cool air. I reached to my left. There is a wall here, I thought. I felt nothing to my left until I took another couple of steps until my fingertips brushed the coarse bricks. Relief overcame me as I knew I had means to guide me to the front of the building where there was sure to be light and possibly another person. I walked steadily, foot by foot, hand by hand, both leading me to where I wanted to be.

_Edward._

I stopped and spun around at the whisper of my name, expecting to be met with another person who was as lost as I was but the voice had no author.

"Hello? Who's there?"

_Edward…_

"Who's there? Where are you?" I asked the voice. I received no answer and thought briefly if I was becoming delirious but I was sure I had heard my name being called. I started walking back to the quarantine room quietly, listening carefully for my name again to determine where it was coming from. The more steps I took, the more sodden the floor became beneath me. As if the world was finally coming into focus, an amber glow flickered on the wet floor, moving with the disturbance of the water and I was instantaneously relieved at the fresh sight. My pace quickened through the flood that had mysteriously appeared and I came face to face with a pair of white doors which read:

Women and Children's Quarantine.

How could I forget her? I thought, as I raised my hands to the sheet-covered, square glass cut in the middle of the left door. My fingertips descended slowly as I pushed it open to reveal a water-logged room, the same size as the unit had I come from before entering the darkened hall. I didn't have to look around to know that there were differences between here and there. It was empty and pitch black except for the one bed that stood silently in the middle of the floor, water surrounding its frame and a lantern by the bedside, blocking the face of the patient that was laying there. It wouldn't be careless to say that everyone in the building had abandoned us; me and this other person here. My eyes fell to my feet that were underneath the ankle-high pool.

A sob shook my frame, but it wasn't mine. It was feminine and familiar as it resonated again as I ascended my sight to the white figure lying in the bed.

"Is that you crying?" I asked to the person, but there was no answer, only the delicate cry. I sloshed through the water quickly, my pants soaking up my legs. The water hit up to my knees as I moved to the bedside and nearly came out of my skin at the sight. Her eyes were closed, her mouth was taut, the skin around her cheekbones was sunken in and every inch of her face was pallid…_Mom._ She was, indeed, sick…deathly. Her form suggested that she had already passed since she was lying poised with her hands resting on her stomach. I nearly sank to the soaked floor but I caught myself on the edge of the bed and positioned myself next to her as her soft incoherent pleas haunted the air around us while her mouth remained unmoving and her body rigid.

"Why did they leave you?" I asked, placing my hand on hers. I flinched at the sensation as cold pings pricked at my palm. Her hands were as winter, colder than I would have ever imagined. I furrowed my brow at thought of going to fetch another blanket for her but I was unsure of where they were. I was afraid to leave her side now that I had found her in the darkness and I wasn't sure I'd be able to find my way back if I left. I waited patiently for her answer but she remained silent as the air continued to fill with her wavering voice that held meaningless words. I didn't understand a scrap of what she was saying, but I listened to her anyhow, comforted by the babbling brook that was her song. It was comforting, even if I didn't know fully what it was that she was speaking of, I felt myself breathing easier in her presence. The air flowed in through my nose and out my mouth with passivity. I said her name a few times and gracefully tapped her hand, hoping to stir her in some way so she would say something to me, to acknowledge my presence.

Overwhelming emotions over came me as I watched her lie peacefully, not opening her eyes nor her mouth to speak to me. I always knew that I would outlive my parents if life were to course naturally. It would be probable that she would pass before me under normal circumstances, but it wouldn't be for some time. And now here she is…deathly sick and barely clinging to a state of understanding, if any at all. I was not prepared to lose them so quickly. It was suppose to be years from now when I had someone to confide in, to brace myself on. I was not prepared to be alone in the world so early. It was a grim reality that I faced now, and the sharp edges of it ripped out my heart and clipped at the recesses of my thoughts. She sighed heavily through thick mucus and relief crossed the boundaries of my unsettled mind. I waited…waited for her to open her eyes and look at me, to lie to me and tell me that everything would be alright and I didn't have to worry.

"Mother? It's Edward," I said while I tapped her hand but the babbling continued to float around us which was becoming discerning. How was I hearing her if she wasn't speaking? My eyes shifted around the room dissecting the murky darkness around the copper glow that I was immersed in but I saw nothing in the shadows. The only movement was the tame water moving gently in subtle currents that came from nowhere and disappearing into the obsidian. Why had they left us here?

_Edward._

I looked back down to her, expecting to meet her open eyes but she was lying in the same state, still. "Mother…Elizabeth Masen?"

Nothing.

I sighed heavily and bowed my head, feeling defeated. "Why won't you speak to me? What have I done to deserve your silence? Please, tell me so I may right my wrong," I pleaded. Her brow furrowed at my words and I was sure that she heard me.

_I love you. I have been proud of you since you were born._

"I wish you were proud of me now."

_I only hope that there is some one who can do more for you now since I can not. You do not deserve to be in here. You are too young, too remarkable._

I placed my other hand on her icy fingers and held onto them, hoping to warm them. "If I could trade places with you, I would. I'm sorry. I tried to take care of everything after father passed. I tried with everything I had. I wish it could have been enough."

_He can't die._

"Who can't die, mother?"

_Edward._

"I'm here."

_Edward._

"Yes, I'm here."

_He can't die._

"Who can't die? Please, speak to me?"

_I love you, my son._

"I love you, too." The statement caused my surroundings to become blurry as the tears started to form on my lower lid. This world full of senseless chatter ceased and my hands started to sink into hers as her form became less of a physical being and started belonging to air. My breathing picked up at the sight of her figure dying into the brass glow and white bed. I shook my head, denying what was happening to her as she slowly disappeared. My fingertips grazed the mattress of where she used to be and I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the drops from my eyes and praying that it was a vision caused by my blurred sight but when I opened them again, the images remained true. A tug pulled at my chest and climbed my neck to the back of my mouth until I had to scream…until there was no other release to the pain that shook my limbs. I fell into the bed, curling my cold wet legs into the sheets and smothered my shouts into the pillow, feeling utterly alone.

A pair of firm hands gripped my shoulders and I tried to push them off, not wanting to be bothered in this new torment. I didn't care to speak with anyone and even if I did, I couldn't. Another scream escaped me as my body shook unwillingly. My cry was deafening and my voice cracked and my throat ached with each second I shouted. Through the agonizing pain that stung my chest I could hear my name being called over and over again but it wasn't the familiar voice that I wanted to hear. I was being shaken again while a masculine whisper was lit in the darkness. He called my name several times before I finally gave in and submitted to his suggestion that I was dreaming. I couldn't believe it in it's entirety since the pain remained.

"He's become delirious," I heard him say, "it's a rare occurrence, but I'm sure of it. His fever has become worse."

"None of the other patients have had this. What should we do, Dr. Cullen?" a nurse asked, although I wasn't sure which one, as they were all out of my sight.

"Cool water and a towel, it is the only thing we can do. The fever must be subsided," he answered.

My eyes slit open to see Dr. Cullen standing over me with a gauze mask draped over his mouth and nose. The brass flicker of the lantern lit his face and contorted the sharp shadows on his cheekbones as he stared at me with emotionless eyes. I tried to move to lie on my back from my side and I found my legs were wrapped around the sheet. Every movement that I made to correct myself bore new agony into the hollow of my bones. There was no part of me that ached more than the other; my whole body was now a screaming bruise. My shoulders gave to the persisting pain that coursed down my arm and through my hands. It charted its way back up and over my neck and down my back then into my hips and thighs. My thoughts raced back to my father. I could see him toss in the painful phase of the illness and wishing for death. He had his salvation away from the pain, now I could only pray for mine. A crack of thunder echoed through the room, as if it were confirming my last request.

* * *

**A/N:**

**If you couldn't tell, Edward was dreaming. No, his mother did not die…yet. Delirium was a symptom of the Spanish Flu, so I used this to my advantage.**

**Can anyone guess why?**

**See you next chapter!**

**=)**


	4. Angelus Mortis

.

Destroying is a necessary function in life. Everything has its season,

and all things eventually lose their effectiveness and die.

- _Margaret J. Wheatley_

* * *

**Chapter Four:**

_Angelus Mortis_

_...  
_

_~ o ~ Carlisle's Point of View ~ o ~_

It had crossed the depths of my mind that Edward may pass before his mother, but the entire situation had me perplexed. The people that had fallen victims to the Flu were not so susceptible to delirium. Most of the cases had died before this particular symptom had set in motion. Edward Masen was a rare case. His illness skipped indicators and jumped into the final phase before death. He was suffering tremendously, more so than his mother when I had seen her. I warded off the fever to the best of my ability. I soaked a cloth and ringed it continuously while trying to fight his constant fidgeting movements. I knew he was in pain so I didn't hold his writhing much; just enough to reach his forehead and the sides of his neck. For what seemed like a half-hour, he muttered that she had _disappeared_, _she was gone, she didn't speak to me._ Nurse Pat tried to steer him back to our reality, away from his incoherent thoughts that when spoken aloud made no sense to us.

Eventually, he became quiet and the focus of our attention became his laborious breathing. He was fading quickly and if he continued, he would pass before Elizabeth. I had to tell her, I had to let her know of her son, but dawn would peak over the horizon soon and I couldn't be sure that the clouds would cover my departure in the sunlight. I care for my patients but I could not risk my own safety and the selfishness weighed heavy on my mind.

I supposed I could stay through the day and make my leave at night if necessary. I didn't want to leave the side of my patients, more-so Edward and Elizabeth… not when I had told him that he could see his mother; a promise that would be broken. Their close bond had enlightened me. They had shown me love still existed when I hadn't experienced it in so many years. Love's scarce in my world, as unfortunate as it may be, and their bond was refreshing amongst the death I have known for so long. THe simple fact was hard to bear; that they had to be apart during their last moments. It was almost intolerable and somewhere in the back of my mind, my thoughts shifted towards letting them see each other, but the reasonable part of me knew better. Edward would no longer be in any condition to leave the confines of his bed. Even if he did, he wouldn't be able to differentiate the events he would be participating in. His mind was lost in the darkness. I had read about his condition in old text when I first started to study medicine. The workings of the human mind fascinated me and still do. It is believed that delirium sends the victim to another world, away from this one and either deepens or numbs the senses while giving the person hallucinations. Although, truth can not be derived from such text since there is such little study available on this particular state of the mind.

Nurse Susie took away the bowl and cloth from Edward's bedside and I was left alone next to him. I stared at him, unable to remove my eyes from his face. His cheeks were sunken in and his face had become more grey in the short amount of time I had seen him. His eyes were swollen, the lids tinted pink and ash, a color palate that I had seen often. I took his hand up in mine, feeling the clammy moisture which seeped from his skin. My fingertips pressed softly against the inner tendons of his wrist. His pulse rapped through my bones and flitted through my system, stirring my hunger that had been resting through out the night but it was easily dismissed. I only wanted to check his heart rate and it was already beginning to slow, however steady. Regardless, his body was dying.

I stood and placed a hand on the dewy skin on his forehead and closed my eyes, gaining the courage to walk to the other room to where his mother was lying and tell her of her only child. Breathing and a faint pulse alerted me that I was not alone next to Edward's bed. I opened my eyes and looked over where he lay and into Nurse Pat's eyes.

"Doctor, is there any chance of him waking?" she asked dimly.

I merely shook my head and said quietly, "No, he is fading too quickly."

Pat sniffled and I could tell that she was frowning through her mask. Her face was pulled down tightly and her eyes were on the verge of spilling as she sniffled again. I could vaguely recall doing it while I was human; crying. There are some things that are not forgotten, even for vampires. The most meaningless actions have become the ones that I miss the most. "It's a shame. He's such a polite boy. When do you think he'll part?"

Truth is, it would be any time now. For the first time in a few weeks, I was unsure of when a patient would pass. The symptoms were easy to read but in this particular case, it wasn't conventional. I shook my head again, slightly, baring words on my tongue that I did not want to speak. "I'm not sure," I said softly while letting my chin fall to the protruding curves of my collarbone. I sighed heavily, what any mournful human would do to show contempt for the declaration of death. Having felt the loss of another patient tugging inside of me, I patted the top of Edward's copper hair, soft and damp from lying for too long. His eyes were closed and he was finally still, peaceful in his delusional state and on a positive hand, sleeping or one could only hope. Where ever his mind had placed him, it was away from any misfortune for the time being.

"Notify me if anything changes." I turned away and made the rounds, going from patient to patient and gathering the strength that I always needed before speaking of death with the family of a victim. Even though Mrs. Masen was a victim herself, she wanted so badly for her son to survive. If my heart were still beating, the mere thought of confirming her fears would have coerced it into heavy hits on my cavity. It was fear that I felt now when I feared nothing at all. I never wanted to deliver the news of dying or death. Even though I can do nothing to help the life of these poor people while this sickness runs among the crowds of Chicago, I felt guilty that I stood by watching them die, when I couldn't .

After an hour spent with my patients and consulting with nurses, I exited the quarantine doors and instead of heading down the hall to the women's unit, I directed myself to my office. I would need to prepare myself. As soon as I reached the solid white door and pushed it open, I felt the pressure on my chest fall. I locked the door behind me. The sun had not yet risen in the horizon, still too early for the break of dawn. Perhaps this morning I would see the sunrise from this window. I had asked for my office to be facing east, for the reason that I could open the curtains and view the outside world when I was here at night, not needing an excuse to keep them closed during the daylight hours (not that I spent a lot of time in here anyways). The light that would hint oddities about myself would be on the other side of the building by the time I would arrive in this room. The rays of the sun were a blessing and a curse. I did miss the daylight and being able to walk through it openly, what little I can remember of the experience was nice. I often lived it in my mind being it was the only way I could do it now. I would watch people from cracked curtains and position myself in their shoes. What would it be like to walk amongst them in the daylight? A measure taken for granted by humans but I do not blame them. They do not know what it is like to be confined to the dark for unnatural lengths of time while others were free to come and go as they pleased and I hope they never have to find out. It is an unfortunate condition that I find myself in when the sun would rise.

Of all the endless days in the dark, I wanted to feel warmth on my expired skin once again. I needed the subtle heat against me even though it would not sway me one way or the other. It would not be permanent but it would be for now as was every circumstance. Soon, I would have to put all of Chicago behind me and head for another town. My time here was expiring, any longer and my age and appearance would be questioned more than it has been. I was asked last month how I managed to stay so young, and while the thought was jesting, it was also a warning. I could no longer stay here and committed to putting in my resignation to Cook County Hospital three weeks ago. I would be leaving soon, nothing short of a week. I had secured my rail ticket to Des Moines. I needed more freedom while at home and living in the rural would allot that freedom. The wildlife was also more abundant. I wouldn't need to evade curious eyes to feed on the outskirts of the city. I would be able to nourish myself easier living in Iowa.

A soft knock sounded through my office, echoing through my head gently. I spun from the window and tugged on my white physician's coat, straightening any broken flux in the fabric while walking. I turned over the lock and opened the door. I was pleasantly pleased to find Amelia Barker standing on the other side. After her younger brother had died earlier in the year she offered to volunteer time to looking after other patients. She was an honest, brave young woman in her early twenties with nearly black hair that was always folded under her uniformed hat. She was timid in my presence, from the first moment she met me and even now, she cowered; bowing her head in submission and folding her tidy hands over her white uniform.

"Yes, Amelia?" I asked, giving her a slight smile.

"Dr. Cullen," she said reluctantly, "I was asked to inform you of two deaths in the women's quarantine."

I stepped forward at the information, opening the door more and moving into the hall to stand beside her, the wooden frame shuddered behind me as I shut it.

"Who, may I ask?"

"Ruth Hartfield and Helen Pinnell."

I took in a steady breath. "Helen Pinnell…how is her daughter?"

"She, too, will pass soon, doctor."

"Does she know of her mother?"

"She was not awake when it happened. We haven't the courage to wake her," she said, stifling a ragged breath.

I nodded. It would was going to be a hard day and it was confirmed that I would not be taking leave before daylight. "I will tell Emily about her mother. Thank you, Amelia. I will accompany you back to quarantine since I am heading there myself."

We were silent as we wound our way through the dimly lit halls that led to the women's unit. Once through the doors, I scanned the room, my sights falling on the orderlies as they removed a body from a bed, where Ruth once lied. The room was smelled freshly of death which was instilled with the sickly sour of the Flu; a scent that would be forever in my senses. I watched as they removed the bodies from the room to take them to the overflowing morgue.

I placed a hand on one man's arm as they were walking past. He stopped and looked into my eyes, straining to keep them there…another human who recognizes the eyes of death. "There will be more later today," I said softly, trying to not sound insensitive to the victims but wanting to remind them vigilantly to work at a quick pace since bodies began to rot the moment life left them. It was their job to work with the morgues in the city, transporting bodies to the mass grave sites; an unfortunate circumstance but necessary to keep the Flu from spreading from the decaying flesh. It was what happened to most of the bodies that were collected from here. The man simply acknowledged my information and continued to carry out the body of Ruth Hartfield. Two men followed with Helen Pinnell.

I bowed my head in respect and made my way to Emily, the thirteen year old daughter of Helen. I sat in the chair next to her bed, my eyes tracing along the contours of the blankets around her torso that gave into her arms resting beside her. She was a lovely child, sweet and caring with blonde hair and blushing cheeks that were now insipid and drained of color. A flustering tremor shook me at what I was about to say to her and I felt the need to take in a breath before beginning. I placed a hand on her arm, a usual way for me to stir patients to consciousness. Her delicate pulse flitted and sank beneath my fingers but it didn't draw a hunger like it had earlier with Edward. Even the nightmarish vampire that was buried within me knew better than to stir at the beat of a child. The slow, languish pulse never quickened as it usually did, instead it kept its pace. She was close to the end. I leaned forward, closer to her so my whispers would only be heard by her ears.

"Emily?"

She stirred.

"Emily, can you hear and understand me?" Her head turned in my direction and her eyes opened, giving me peeks of the once blue eyes that were now empty and beset with pink. "How are you feeling today?" I asked, moving my hand to her forehead, her fever penetrated into my stiff fingers. She frowned and pouted her bottom lip, a clear indication of what she thought of my question. "Emily," I started, feeling more human now than ever in this immortal existence, "I'm not sure how to tell you this," I paused to take a breath, trying to register any emotion that would surface in her features. "Your mother has gone to heaven."

"I know," she replied softly, "and I'll be with her soon. Mommy told me just a while ago…before I went to sleep." Her demeanor was calm, a collection of understanding and maturity beyond her years; an admiring young mind with the ability to cast light on death and look towards what awaits her after a final breath. I stroked back her hair with my thumb and spoke to her for a while about her family beyond these walls. While I tried to stay on less grim topics, she wanted to know what I thought of heaven. This was a thing I did not know. I know nothing of heaven or God but I had believed in a divine greatness while I was human. Whether it existed in the skies or the hearts of men I didn't know. Surely, if the devil could reside within man or beast, God could as well and perhaps that's all there was.

Instead of giving her a lengthy answer, I settled for the easier. "All children go to heaven, Emily. God wouldn't have it any other way but what it's like, I couldn't tell you. It is one of life's greatest mysteries."

"Mommy told me that my toys will be there," she said weakly as the faintest tear trailed down her cheek.

"Perhaps they will," I said and offered a small grin while placing a hand on her wrist. Her pulse was slowing and with each beat it faltered. She didn't offer to speak anymore and I sat by her side while she idled then faded away as her final breath expelled. I gripped the small digits of her hand gently, my chest alive with mourning and pain. I could hardly bear it as it coursed through my expired veins. It was a greater sting than venom, greater than any thirst that had beckoned me during this life. And as badly as I wanted, I couldn't fight it. Even though I had immense strength it was pain that could not be fought. Only time would offer a reprieve from all this innocent death.

I released her from my hand and pulled the sheet over her head then stood from the chair and walked away without turning back. Murmuring and covered coughs echoed through the room as I made a quick round between the aisles of beds. My feet came to rest where Elizabeth Masen was lying, asleep in a cocoon of sanity unlike her son. I still had business to tend to in regards to her and Edward and I would be unable to shake what needed to be done. While she was still in the hospital, alive, and so was he, it was my responsibility. I silently pulled up a chair next to her bed and sat down without disturbing the surrounding patients. I rested my chin on my balled fists that were supported by my knees. Lightening lit up the room through the windows in the early morning darkness, breaking the dim lighting that embraced Elizabeth's ghostly features. I couldn't bring myself to wake her and discuss the matter, but I knew that she wanted to know even though the heartbreaking news would destroy her spirit, if there was anything left to destroy. She had such hope for Edward as long as he was in here under the care of the nurses and volunteers…and me. But hope can be treacherous and give false reality. The simple truth was even though I was different from everyone in this building, I couldn't cure anyone. It wasn't in my power to give the sick strength to pull through a God-sent plague and the truth was painful even for me. I hated to break her hope.

Under the white sheet, her body awakened and she nearly gasped when she opened her eyes to find me there. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," I said softly.

She shook her head, dismissingly. "No worry. Have you seen Edward?"

"That is what I wanted to talk to you about, Mrs. Masen."

"Please, call me Elizabeth… we're past formalities," she responded and smiled gently. "What news of my son?"

"I'm afraid I have no news that would delight you."

Her lips parted silently. "Please… no. Please, God, no," she whispered to me, tears welling on her bottom lid as her nostrils flared. I could smell the blood forming, more than likely coming from her nose as it did before. She reached for me and I gave her my hand, making her arm tremor slightly when she touched me. "No, please tell me that he's still alive. Tell me he didn't pass."

I clasped her fingers reassuringly. "He's still alive." She sighed and a smile spread across her lips. "But," I said with a pause, her tugging smile fading, "he's very sick, more so than earlier. He has delirium, and is not responding to anybody right now."

She shook her head, her eyes squinting in confusion. "What is delirium?"

"It is an absent state. His body has been given over to the Flu so dramatically that his mind has chosen to shut him off from it. He sees and hears things that aren't happening, illusions or hallucinations if you will."

"So, he's not speaking?"

"Not in understanding. He only speaks of what he sees in his head. Atleast that is what is believed."

Her tears spilled over and ran down her cheek in thin streams. "He's all I have left. He's all I have left of his father..." she trailed off, cupping a hand over her eyes and bearing the pain into them. I could feel it as her hand quivered in mine, the pain of losing someone dear to one's heart is unimaginable and I was silent as she cried. Sometimes it's better to allow them the quiet so their thoughts can run as intended. "How long does he have left?" she asked bringing her eyes away from her palm. She stared at the ceiling then to me.

"We do not know. It could be anytime; minutes, hours or perhaps days from now."

"So there is time for him to get better? He could still pull through?"

"Mrs. Ma—Elizabeth, I'm afraid that he won't be able to recover. This Flu has killed more than I care to count and it will not stop for Edward."

"But you can do something about it," she said, determination powering her voice.

"There isn't a cure. I am a servant to medicine but I have none to administer. Without medicine, I am powerless."

Her breathing quickened and she searched my face. Once again, I felt exposed, as if she was peeling away my secrets. "I know nothing of you, Dr. Cullen," she finally said, "but there is something special about you. From the first moment I saw you I knew it, regardless if you want to believe it or not. You are not afraid of this illness while others are. When these nurses and doctors show disregard you do not. You are a rare gift to this world and I refuse to believe that God would bestow such a gift to someone who couldn't or wouldn't use it. You can save him. I can feel it deep down in my heart."

I merely stared at her, wondering if she knew what I was, curious if at some point I had shown signs of what I had been hiding but I couldn't recall a single moment of indiscretion. Perhaps my movements were too silent or my gate was too fluid, but humans rarely paid any mind to those things. Although my eyes weren't a color that was usually seen, a mythical creature wouldn't come to mind. Vampires are a work of fiction at least that is what humans thought. Arrogance and refusal to accept such a harsh creature wouldn't allow them a second thought on the subject these days, not when a very real monster was sweeping through like the hand of the reaper. But perhaps this one was different. Did she see what others refuse? I would deny it if it came from her tongue.

"I am just a man, not capable of anything special. I have no talent over God's will," I said humbly, "do not put me on pedestals which I do not deserve to be on."

She coughed harshly and regained composure. "Everything I said is true. You do have a gift and I want you to do something for me." My chest tightened at her words. "Please, grant a dying woman one last request," she said as her eyes pleaded with mine. "Please, Dr. Cullen, please, promise me one thing."

Unable to tell her no and worried about what she would ask, I compromised the answer. "I don't want to make a promise that I am unable to keep. What is it that you want of me?"

"Save him," she whispered.

"Elizabeth, I can not promise that I can save your son," I said regrettably.

"I know that you can, you may be the only one that can save him. At least say that you will try?" She coughed into her hand with a heavy strain bearing onto her lungs. "Will you say that you will try? Promise me that you'll try to save my son…that you will do everything within your power?" She gripped onto the underside of my arm.

I inhaled deeply, bringing her sickly, sweet and bitter scent in with the musty air. It was all harsh on the senses; the atmosphere, the death, the smells, the rotting blood that was now trickling from her nostril. I brought out the handkerchief that I had stowed away in my pocket and blotted away the blood. I thought of ways to ignore her question and what my answer would be. I couldn't save him but she wouldn't listen to that. All I could do was make him as comfortable as possible or may be give him a hot whiskey toddy, but that didn't work, so we never bothered with such things. She begged me again in a hushed whisper and I hung my head and placed the handkerchief behind her on the white railing.

"I promise that I'll do everything within my power to save your son, Elizabeth."

She nodded and seemed pleased with my answer. The rain that was once beating onto the windows across the room was now calm unlike the wind which howled around the corners of the building. I spent a few more minutes with her while she continued to agonize over his situation. Her love was filling; shedding light on the darkest corners of my established thoughts on family. Every notion that I had ever had was littered with loneliness, knowing that I was cursed to face an eternity of self-discovery without the company of another. Elizabeth fell asleep while she was telling me about Edward's childhood and what a wonderful child he seemed to be. It was nice to hear of other people's lives. They were my fiction; stories that were told as if they were fairytales and would never exist for me. But unlike children's tales of knights and princesses that had happy endings, these did not end with _and they lived happily ever after._ These were more dark and sinister because none of them had happy endings. At the end, death awaited. Even though it was never spoken of, it was the way of the world now.

I left Elizabeth to sleep while I checked on the patients one last time before retiring to my office to draw notes for the morning. When I arrived at my cozy office, the sun was rising. I could see the dim gray lines peaking over the top of my dark drapery behind my desk. It illuminated the ceiling and lit the surrounding walls with a dull glow. This wasn't a sunrise of joy but one of sorrow. The world seemed to be aligned with me this morning. It shared my thoughts of death and deception. Deceit never weighed heavy on my shoulders as a doctor, but I had lied to Elizabeth. I had given her hope when there was none to give, promised her something that I had no control of. I knew I could not restore her son's life when I had made that promise but I didn't have the heart to tell her no. It was unlike me to do such a thing. I locked the door and made my way to my oversized window, pushing back the curtains and gazing at the covered sun. Although the rain had gone, the clouds held back the golden light that I loved. Every once in a while a glare peaked through the thin layers and it gave me a slightly joyful emotion but it couldn't drive away the guilt that resided within me now.

I stared out the window, hoping to find some inspiration amongst the bleak sky but came up empty. There was nothing I could do for Edward. If there was some medicine or serum that I could have administered more people would have walked away from this hospital…but they have all been unsuccessful. I had no more power than the other doctors in practice aside from my vampire traits.

My thoughts halted and rested on the word, what I was…what I had become so long ago. Vampire. Perhaps I have not exhausted the entire spectrum of possibilities that lie with Edward's life. I could save him by serving him death, an eternity of it. He could be like me. I could teach him to survive as I have and neither of us would have to be alone. From what little I know of him, he is a good kid and has decent intentions for what he wants for himself, granted that his plans had not been to become a vampire and may be it was my own selfishness that thought up the idea. But then again, I had made a promise to do everything within my power and I had it. I had the power to save him. It had saved people before, I had heard stories of it and if they were true then he would be no different.

I stood momentarily, asking myself if I was going to go through with this idea but what was left of my heart had already decided. I gathered my belongings and threw on my hat and overcoat, rushing out of the door of my office and to the quarantine unit. I briefly spoke with Nurse Pat, telling her that I would be back shortly and she didn't argue with me, she wouldn't even if she wanted to. I found my pace quickening as I neared the rear doors of the hospital, I would take the back way home so I wouldn't have to walk at an abnormally slow pace. I had to prepare for Edward and there was much to do.

* * *

**THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!**

**EDWARD'S POV WILL BE NEXT AND IT WILL PROBABLY BE HIM FROM HERE ON OUT.**

**(_ANGELUS MORTIS MEANS "ANGEL OF DEATH" IN LATIN._)  
**


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